


How to Win a Sportscar (the Dinastia remix)

by ChibiSquirt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 16:50:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13640376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiSquirt/pseuds/ChibiSquirt
Summary: Tony wants to give Steve his ultimate fantasy this anniversary, and he's going to have to phone a friend to do it.





	How to Win a Sportscar (the Dinastia remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [leaving everything behind (but you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946464) by [MusicalLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna). 
  * In response to a prompt by [MusicalLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna) in the [Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2018) collection. 



> A Huayra is pronounced "why-ra" and it looks like this: <https://www.motorauthority.com/news/1106726_pagani-huayra-dinastia-makes-purple-and-turquoise-look-amazing> Cluegirl did my beta on this, bless her!

“Pepper, help.”

Pepper Potts leaned back in her chair—her _ergonomic_ swivel chair in _sleek, black leather,_ thank you very much—and contemplated the phone.  She definitely could not get away with claiming technical difficulties, not on a call from Tony.  Unless there was an earthquake...  Were there any villains these days who did earthquakes?  

“No,” she told Tony.  “I have a company to run.”  She frowned and tilted her head to the side, even though he couldn’t actually see her: she was on the top floor of the Malibu office, and he was in... New York, probably.  Although you never did know these days.  “I think it used to be _your_ company, in fact.”

“But this is _important!”_

It was not important.  If it _had_ been important, he wouldn’t have called _her,_ would he?  

_Bitter, much?_

“I’m not your PA anymore, Tony—”

“There’s no one else who can help me with this—”

“Give me an hour and half a million dollars and I bet I can prove you wrong—”

“Remember when I was dying?”

 _Oh God, no._ Pepper closed her eyes and breathed in sharply.   _Not again, please not again..._

“...and I was going to tell you?” Tony continued.  

His voice was less resonant over the phone, less compelling, she noted distantly.  Her own voice sounded weak and tired, tight like the skin over a white knuckle as she said, “You were never going to tell me.”

Tony went silent for a full fifteen seconds in response.  When he spoke again, he was slower, calmer.  Less manic, thank God.  “I _thought_ I was going to tell you,” he said.  “I made you an omelet, remember?”

“You made me a _something,_ anyway,” Pepper said dryly, relaxing.  She spun her chair in a circle, relieved; if they were talking about eggs, it couldn’t be anything too bad.  And at least talking to Tony would be more interesting than the investor report she had to go over.  “I also remember that you took all morning to do it.”

“Right,” Tony agreed hastily.  “That’s it, that’s the problem.”

“Tony... what are you talking about?”  Pepper spun again listlessly in her wonderful chair, watching the view out the large windows behind her appear and then disappear as she moved.  There was a decent amount of surf, today.  Maybe she’d go for a walk later on.

“It’s like this.”  Tony paused before speaking again, and she had no trouble at all picturing the pleased, embarrassed blush on his cheeks.  Tony liked to think he was too dark-complected to blush, but Pepper had been there for years; she knew the truth.  It would be subtle, but definitely there.  “Steve wants to pretend we’re normal for a while.”

“Normal?  Like... no powers?”

“And no money.  No history of saving the world, no more than one PhD, no fancy cars...  He specifically mentioned hiding out in a little house in the burbs for a weekend.  There may have been a white picket fence invoked.”

“That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” Pepper blurted.  “No, wait; maybe it’s the _worst_ thing I’ve ever heard.  I can’t decide.  Are there—are there _roles_ you’re playing?”

“I’m a mechanic, apparently.  And—stop _laughing—”_

She did not stop laughing.  Her chair tilted forward under the weight of her hilarity.  “No more than _one_ PhD, you said?”

“It’s not funny, Pepper!  And if you let on you even know about this to Steve, much less laugh at him, I will find a way to fire you, that’s not—that’s not okay—”

“Oh, relax.”  She leaned the chair back and stretched her legs out in front of her, enjoying the warmth of the sun coming in through the window.  It was always just a little chilly in the office, something she had asked about repeatedly only to be told it was her imagination...  She pouted and let the Extremis heat rise gently within her.  “What about Steve?  Does he have a role?”

“He’s a comic-book artist, apparently.”

“Huh.”  She swung the chair idly from side to side.  “Bet you the new Pagani Huayra he gives you dirty pictures by the end of the weekend.”

There was a small catch of breath from the phone, a tiny noise of glee.  “Oh my god, I hope I lose.”

“I do, too,” she said, amused.  

“Okay, deal.  A Huayra for me if no pictures, what do you get if _you_ win?”

“What makes you think I _don’t_ want a Huayra?”

“Do you?”

“The Dinastia model, please.  In aubergine; it’s a good color for me.”

“Done.  And speaking of eggplant—”

“I generally try not to.”

“—I need someone to teach me how to cook.”

Pepper spun the chair towards the desk again and blinked at the phone.  “...Oh, I see,” she said after a minute.  A wave of affection swelled in her as she followed his reasoning.  “Because you’ll be hiding in the suburbs and you feel you should display the standard housewifely skills.”

“...Basically?”

“You get two solves from me a year, Tony; is this _really_ what you want to spend one of them on?”

“Come on, Pep...”

“You could always get takeout.”

Tony went silent, the only noise from the phone a low whirring which, Pepper knew, came from one of the bots.  She let the silence sit, waiting.  No need to rush, after all.

“I want him to have the full deal,” Tony said eventually.  “No half-measures, no caveats or hedging.  The full experience.  And if that means I learn to cook...  It can’t be _that_ hard to learn, can it?”

“Three hours for an _omelette,_ Tony.  Which in the end was not actually _remotely_ omelette-like.”  Pepper sighed.  “But, alright.  I’ll find someone to teach you some basic meals— _don’t_ try to complicate them; basic will save your life, here—and you’ve burned one of your solves.  Also, I want input on where you’re staying, you can’t just stab a finger at a map.”

“Done, done, and very done—do I even own a physical map?  And... thank you, Pepper.  I owe you one.”

“You owe me many,” Pepper corrected fondly.  “But it’s nice to see you and Steve so happy together.”  

 

* * *

 

 

Three weeks later, Pepper walked out of her office to find an eggplant colored, remote-controlled Pagani Huayra sitting on the floor of her waiting room.  The flyaway door was lifted, revealing a set of keys resting on the seat.


End file.
